My Walkabout

Only the deer scatter as the wanderer steps onto the Fremont Gorge trail. No other visible signs of life to be found.

The sun is shining bright on this December morn in the high red rock desert. He straps on the googles for solar flare protection, and starts walking.

Water is hard to ration with the sounds of screaming fans in his head. He tips the canteen and lets the last cool drop slip down his parched lips before his tongue licks the moisture with the flick of a dragon.

The crowd roars in delight at his suffering.

Looking out over the vast stadium of life, he points to the sky and shouts to the heavens,

“Don’t you wish you were here!”

Yet only the streak in the sky from an airliner going East responds. The wanderer follows the white plume, hoping to find understanding in this harsh and unforgiving planet.